


Once Upon A Wing Mirror

by AlixAnonymous



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Maribat - Fandom, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: (kind of), Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, BAMF Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Basically this was supposed to be a one-shot and then 11000 words later..., CEO Tim Drake, College Student Marinette, F/M, I suck at tagging, Past minor character death, World's Greatest Detective Tim Drake
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:26:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29711601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlixAnonymous/pseuds/AlixAnonymous
Summary: “A side-view mirror (or side mirror), also known as a wing mirror, is a mirror placed on the exterior of motor vehicles for the purposes of helping the driver see areas behind and to the sides of the vehicle, outside the driver's peripheral vision (in the "blind spot")”. Source: WikipediaMarinette Dupain-Cheng might not believe in fate anymore, not since her time as the once great heroine of Paris came to an end, but it's certainly odd circumstances that bring her (a tired, overworked, college student struggling to make ends meet in her new home: the City of Crime) and Tim Drake-Wayne (the tired, young CEO, of said city's most famous company) together. Who ever said car accidents(?) and capitalism at its finest couldn't be the start of a great love story?
Relationships: Tim Drake/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 44
Kudos: 168
Collections: miraculous ladybug stories





	1. Conversations Over Coffee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RaesOfMoonLight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaesOfMoonLight/gifts).



> A lot of references to details in the Nolanverse Batman movies are included in this, so if you haven't watched them yet I highly recommend. The only fault I had with them is that they didn't include any Robins but still worth the watch if you at all care for this author's humble opinion. The only thing I wanted to explain beforehand was that Marinette was never made the Great Guardian in this AU. Feedback is very much appreciated as this is my first fully written work. Also, if anyone wants to come up with a better story summary for me please do! I also suck at summaries. Also also, this is dedicated to my friend, Rae who's heard me rant about this story for the last month.

Life in Gotham was actually turning out to be as hard as Marinette expected which was saying something. She thought the worst part would be living so far from her family and friends and while it certainly was, she hadn’t also predicted how difficult it would be adjusting to life without a miraculous, without superpowers, without Tikki, without… everything. Looking back, she couldn’t explain why she thought the City of Crime was the best place for a new start.

Sure, it wasn’t all bad. School was pretty cool sometimes. Paying for school? Not so much. She was managing though. Bartending at night, taking commissions whenever she had the time. She rarely had a moment to think these days but perhaps that was a good thing. She still wasn’t quite ready to completely comprehend what had happened in Paris. The past would catch up with her eventually she was sure but as long as she had classwork and commissions and capitalism to keep her busy, that day was still far off.

Maybe she hadn’t yet come to terms with her demons but she had at least found some semblance of sanity in Gotham, had found some happiness on the days where she was free to design to her heart's content without the possibility of an akuma’s interruption, had found some peace on nights like these when she was driving home from work, the lights of the city passing by the car windows in her peripheral vision. 

This one in particular was pretty nice as she was reveling in the fact that she had finally saved up enough tips to buy a few yards of an expensive fabric she had been eyeing at her local store for the past few months. It was the little things like this that made her keep going. She had always been an optimist at heart and it seemed even living in a city like Gotham wasn’t enough to change that.

Her phone chimes with a now very familiar alert, reminding her of another unfortunate circumstance of living in Gotham: The villains.

The absolutely idiotic, color-clashing, annoyingly persistent antagonists that couldn’t let her pat herself on the back in peace without robbing a bank or kidnapping a Robin or whatever else it was this time that set off the sirens she could hear off in the distance. At least they were in the distance for now but if her hearing was to be trusted, they seemed to be getting closer. She turns on the radio just in case there’s anything she needs to be aware of.

“Batman appears to be right on his trail with Red Robin also in pursuit…”

_His_ trail so not the Sirens this time. Too bad. They were by far her favorites of the bunch. Not that she paid that much attention to the Rogues gallery in general but eventually some personalities became familiar and something about the three ladies made her almost root for them and not just because one of them reminded her a little bit of someone.

As she listens to the reporter prattle on about the situation (It _was_ a bank robbery this time, called it), she can’t help but admit that it is nice to not have to be the one always having to run off and save the day. Of course, there was still a part of her that wanted to help, to protect, to be of some use but her own situation had taught her that that was best left to the professionals and the Bats seemed capable enough. It was nice in a complicatedly comforting way to not have to worry about others, to not have the responsibility of keeping people safe on her shoulders, to have her biggest problems be how to keep food on the table and her head above the water that is student loan debt and not how to make sure she never gets akumatized. Sure, her situation sucked sometimes but at least she could now complain or cry about it as much as she wanted without having to fear her feelings being weaponized.

She stops at an intersection and immediately prepares herself for the very likely reality she’ll be there for a while as the news covers how the G.C.P.D. was blocking off certain streets in the area. It was situations like this that made her wish she was still using the Gotham Subway to get around. It was certainly the more reasonable option. No traffic, no gas expenses. If she didn’t have the money to buy a car, it stands to reason she wouldn’t be able to afford maintaining it. Apparently, that thought had never occurred to Chloe who had gotten her the red Mazda3 for her birthday. _Talk about utterly ridiculous,_ she thinks with a smile and a shake of her head. Of course she was given the one gift she couldn’t afford to return. Literally.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a large white van barreling past the front of her lane through the intersection. Seeing the obviously reckless driving, she’s not too surprised when seconds later a vehicle that could only be the infamous BatMobile flies by as well. 

What does surprise her is what happens next.

She hears an unfamiliar sound from behind her, over and over again, getting louder and louder. It’s something like a  
ping or a snap or a break. She looks in the rearview mirror and all she sees is a flash of red before she learns what the noise is:  
It’s the sound of a motorcycle taking a side mirror clean off a car, _her car_. Actually, in this case many cars as she watches as the responsible party does the same thing to the three cars in front of her as well as those in the adjacent lane before making a sharp turn in the direction of the white van. 

Their intersection’s participation in the high speed chase apparently over, the light turns green. 

None of the cars in front of her stop for a second before continuing on their way. (Gothamites are indeed a different breed.) Not wanting to hold up traffic any longer, she isn’t given a second to contemplate what had just happened before moving on. Muscle memory guides her home as it takes the whole rest of the drive for her to process things. Only when she pulls into the apartment garage does it hit her.

She kisses the beautiful fabric goodbye as she mentally prepares herself to look up how much it would cost to replace the mirror.

**…**

Chloe must’ve at least somewhat anticipated the challenge it would be for her to keep a car in her financial situation and had offered to cover the insurance. Marinette was declined, thinking she would have to learn how to stand on her own two feet. That was Marinette of four months ago. Present Marinette would like to go punch that Marinette in the face and teach her a lesson about not looking gift horses in the mouth. 

But higher up on her to-punch list than her past self at the moment was the insurance company that had just directed her to a section of their policy that stated they “did not cover costs acquired in accidents involving the following individuals…” It was a lengthy list that included who she had identified her perpetrator, also known as the person highest up on her to-punch list: Red Robin. _So that’s why it was so cheap. Ugh._

She would like to clarify an earlier statement. The Gotham vigilantes were capable in the sense that they could solve a problem, not clean up a mess as was always but never more so apparent. Gotham citizens could say what they wanted to about Superman and self righteousness but you never saw Batman repairing roads or buildings that had been turned into battlegrounds.

So here she was, having to solve a problem she had no hand in making and no help from the people who did. _Huh, just like old times._

The money she had saved up for the fabric barely covered half of how much the internet told her it would take to repair her car. She could take the subway while trying to save up enough for the bill but she would need to get a new pass while still covering the cost of her parking spot. Maybe she could pick up a larger commission? Did she have enough time? Did she have enough to cover supplies?

She was trying to do the math in her head when her eyes landed on the open sketchbook lying on the table. It was open to the page she had been working on for the last few months, the one she had smiled at before leaving for work earlier that evening, the one last reminder that Gotham could do a lot of things, but it couldn’t break her spirit anymore than Paris already had. 

There were a lot of things she had been forced to give up since she first put on those spotted earrings. Her passion would not be one of them. She refused.

Her decision is made. Her problem-solving skills were now focused elsewhere.

She makes herself a cup of coffee, opens up her laptop, and starts her research. Someone in Gotham was going to take responsibility for Red Robin’s actions and it wouldn’t be her.

Before the sun rises the next morning, she’s used hours of Google searches, scanning through various new articles and BatFamily forums, and minor Instagram stalking to make a plan. 

**…**

Tim’s going to have to switch pit stops again soon, he realizes the third time he sees a flash go off in the corner of his eye. _I mean really, how hard is it to at least turn off your flash while trying to sneak a picture of someone?_ It wasn’t that he cared that much, he just wanted to be left to his coffee in peace. There were only so many cafes within walking distance of the Wayne Enterprises building and he had hoped he could spend longer at this one before the social climbers found him. He was mistaken.

He’s about to close his laptop, grab his piles of files, and move his work space to his security-protected office when he’s addressed.

“Mr. Drake-Wayne?” 

The question came from a blue-haired petite girl standing across the table from him. He knew at once he had never seen her before. Now he was the one with questions.

The three words she had spoken would’ve seemed simple enough to almost everyone else but they were already out of the ordinary for him. First of all, most of the girls with enough courage or desperation to approach him in places like this usually started out with something a little more… casual: “Hey, aren’t you Tim Drake?” or “Where have I seen your face before?”. That’s of course not including the very many who just pretended they didn’t know who he was, and just happened to drop a pen while passing his table, and seemed very disappointed when he did not encourage them to continue acting out the fanfiction meet cute they had created in their heads. Actually who knew if it was all in their heads, maybe they had a script somewhere. _Never assume too much, don’t ignore the possibilities,_ was what he’d been taught. In any case, this girl appeared to have asked the question to get his attention, not so much to confirm his identity. 

She wasn’t playing dumb. He could appreciate that. It made him suspicious of course but he was always suspicious and he could appreciate honesty wherever he could find it these days.

The next thing that struck a chord with him was that she had called him Mr. Drake-Wayne. Despite that it was in fact his legal name, the majority of people tended to ignore the last half more often than not. W.E.’s Board of Directors liked to leave it out to undermine him and he had never made an effort to correct them, not willing to risk them thinking it gave them any sort of power over him. All of his employee’s had already gotten used to calling him Mr. Drake and when he finally got around to changing it, he didn’t make a big deal about it. Lucius Fox would call him that in front of others but for the most part the business partners were informal with each other. His Wikipedia page and social media profiles had been changed when the papers were finalized but apparently old habits die hard. Occasionally you would find a good news source who addressed him correctly, but most of the big ones were overworked and too tired to care so he never held his breath on that front. For most Gothamites, Bruce Wayne’s third son was Timothy Drake and he might as well have not bothered changing his name like the first two. So that particular address was a bit unusual to say the least.

This whole thought process took place in seconds and it was getting time for him to respond. Neither observation was that important yet so he made quick notes in his head and decided the best next step was getting more information.

“Yes?” He blames his lack of sleep for how blunt the words came out and takes a swig of coffee as she replies.

“Hello. Can I sit for a moment?” she asks and he expects her to go right ahead and take a seat without waiting for his answer like so many who had asked that question before her. To his slight surprise, while she does make a move toward the chair across from him, she pauses and raises her eyebrows in question when he doesn’t answer.

“I was just about to leave actually,” he says, telling the truth because while he is curious about what her deal is, he’s even more curious whether she’ll respect that response as much as she respected his lack of a prior one. He adds what he detects is French accent to his list of mental notes.

“Okay, then I’ll make this quick,” she starts and again she surprises him when she still doesn’t take a seat and instead stays standing as she pulls out a piece of paper from a folder in her purse and extends it to him.

Tim had noticed something about people. A lot of times when they handed something to you, they would still go on to explain what it was before you had a chance to start reading it. Maybe they were pointing on the most important bits or letting you know the conclusions they had drawn before you had a chance to make any of your own. Either way, Tim didn’t understand this human trait. He thought it was completely unnecessary. He would read what he was given regardless of how it was presented. In his experience, it was a good practice in a business sense.

This girl however, did not give any explanation. She let him read the document without interruption and waited for his response. In so many small, obscure, very likely irrelevant ways, she was contrary to what he was used to. So it was upp to him to restart their conversation once he was finished reading.

“This is an invoice for a mechanic garage.” Tim both was and was not accustomed to being the one to point out the obvious. He was not sure where this was going and was inwardly a little shaken about that.

“Yes. I got the estimate from them earlier this morning,” she explains, or rather she doesn’t explain more than that.

He was getting a bit frustrated now. “What exactly does this have to do with me?”

“Oh, right. You see,” she starts, “That’s how much it will cost to replace the wing mirror Red Robin broke off my car last night.”

There’s a pause as it takes a second for her word to sink in then-

The sound of tires screeching fills his head.

**...**

Marinette really did not know where her research was going to take her last night. She just had one goal: Find someone who was somewhat responsible for Red Robin or any of the Bats really as Batman was definitely the one responsible for his previous students but not the type of target she was looking for. She needed an outside connection, an identifiable one.

She was not, you hear me, _not_ trying to figure out their true identities. She was also a hero once upon a time. She knew how important it was that that secret was kept well, secret. All she wanted was someone to send the bill to and in looking for that she figured maybe the person who sent the bill to Batman had the best chance of succeeding. One did not get that type of gear without some sort of benefactor or developer.

One article led to another led to her trying to find out where she could have a chance of approaching Tim Drake led to her realizing a lot of ladies in Gotham wanted to know the answer to that question _(Thank you Instagram celebrity stalkers!)_ and eventually well it led to her standing here, after running her plan by Alya that morning, getting advice and getting her papers in order, and then also getting a pep talk from her friend right before she walked into the cafe. 

So far, it seemed to have worked. She had been polite but had held her own. Right? _Right?_

Maybe that wasn’t right because right as she finished her last sentence, Tim Drake seemed to freeze. Maybe approaching a billionaire for money in the middle of a coffee shop was not her best idea. Maybe-

“I’m sorry I don’t see what this has to do with me, Miss?” he asks in a way that oddly reminded her of Lila, like he was also someone well versed in lying or perhaps that was harsh, maybe more like he was someone well versed in hiding things. If her research was done right, that made sense.

Luckily she came prepared. “Dupain-Cheng, Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she starts by answering his inquiry as she pulls the folder out of her purse and once again gestures to the seat in front of her in silent question. This time he acquiesces.

Laying her papers out right, she begins by pointing out the obvious, “Surely you’ve seen the articles, Mr. Drake- Wayne. Many believe Wayne Enterprises to be the backer of the Batman.”

He stops her there. “I will tell you what we told the media companies willing to print such outlandish theories. W.E. prefers to support our city through philanthropic efforts, not by funding some maniac in a mask and to try and frame us as accessories to that individual’s very illegal activities is grounds for defamation.”

Oh so that’s how they were going to play it? Well... it was too late now to turn back.

_Game on,_ she thinks with a smile.

**…**

Why is she smiling? 

_I just threatened to sue her, why is she smiling like that?_

He really hoped he was not seeing the beginning of another villain in the making. I mean most sane people did not get so worked up over a car mirror for coffee’s sake. At least he didn’t think they did. B had told him once what it was like: The beginning of the end. To see something you used to know, who used to be... normal, change like that. He had said the main giveaway was their smile. When it changed or rather when the circumstances under which it appeared changed. He said he could tell once someone started smiling when they shouldn’t that they were a goner.

Tim was not sure what to do with that advice. He wasn’t sure it applied now. He was actually not sure what to do at all in this situation. He couldn’t help but think this was what he got for ignoring Alfred’s advice and going into work on a Saturday. Although, from what he’d heard so far apparently this was in fact the result of his motorcycle maneuvering last night. In his defense, he thought most Gothamites would hardly blink an eye at the loss of a side mirror and alas, he was in a rush. (He was right actually, most of the Gothamites involved did not blink at eye at the incident. Parisians were a different breed.) 

So now here he was, mentally scrambling to protect the family secret from a Tier 2 threat. Granted, with the way she was smiling he thought it was safe to say she’d moved in to Tier 3 territory. B’s advice was at the forefront of his mind: _Always confirm what you’re being accused of, don’t give information away thinking your opponent already has knowledge of it. That’s a fool’s mistake._ Right, well he wasn’t a fool thank you very much. He was not giving anything away for free.

He tried searching her face again looking for any sign of the murderous intent that could support his earlier theory but he couldn’t find anything. Her smile while startling wasn’t... scary. On the outside, at least. It was to him because it was the kind of smile that hinted she knew more than she should and he didn’t like the sound of that but it wasn’t that kind of smile. It was the smile of someone who was confident but not in the way of a predator playing with it’s food, more like someone who knew what they were talking about and wasn’t taking any bullshit today.

Tldr: That smiled unsettled him. It unsettled him even more than the smiles of the Rogue gallery because this one was coming from a seemingly sane, rational person. A sane, rational person who knew more than they should: his family’s worst nightmare.

His brain was, as always, firing off in a million directions. As he stops his examination of her face lest he be too obvious about it, he’s going over everything she’s said so far, adding to his notes. Dupain-Cheng, another hyphener maybe? Interesting. 

He can tell she’s about to continue the conversation when she picks up a piece of paper but instead of handing it over right away, she appears to look it over, glancing up from it for a second to meet his eye as she states, “It’s not defamation if it’s true.” 

“It’s not true if you can’t prove it,” he responds, immediately realizing how incriminating that sounds and quickly correcting himself, “And of course you can’t prove something that isn’t true.”

She tilts her head and stares him down. It’s, again, unsettling. She starts to open her mouth to speak then drops her eyes before turning to the side to look out the window for a second. This time when he studies her face he notices the dark circles under her eyes, almost completely concealed with makeup. If she had been there during last night’s incident, then she would’ve been out at one in the morning. Between that and the fact that she’d come prepared, she couldn’t have gotten much sleep. He almost pitied her naivety in thinking she could march in here and successfully face him without even being armed with the energy to see it through. It wouldn’t have made a difference of course but it did make him wonder… 

She was well dressed, her clothes perfectly tailored. She didn’t seem the kind of person strapped for cash. A side mirror replacement would cost less than the value of the black blazer she was wearing, he’d wager. Was this just a test? A first, exploratory encounter to see if he’d reveal anything easily? It just didn’t make sense. Yet, of course. He’d make sure it would eventually.

She doesn’t turn back to him as she says, “I’ll admit, I’m almost certain there’s no way any of those vigilantes would’ve gotten this far if a little digging was all it took to uncover their secrets. And honestly, I’d pay for the mirror myself if I could, even though I shouldn’t have to. But as it stands, I don’t have time to waste telling you things you already know. One night was all it took for me to find out that the Batmobile has a striking resemblance to a prototype vehicle Wayne Enterprises was developing for the military years ago, a vehicle whose design was never fully revealed to the public until after the Batman’s first appearance. Most people have probably read about that by now, I’m sure you developed a really good method of explaining it all away. Personally, I’m more interested in the memory cloth theory. I’m a designer, you see. Fabric fascinates me. Fabric like that would fascinate anyone if they knew the implications but like I said, no time for that.” 

She turns back to him now. Even if he hadn’t noticed the bags under her eyes earlier, the weariness on her face would still be incredibly apparent. He was starting to wonder if he had given her too much credit earlier by labeling her as Tier 3 but he had learned a long time ago not to be put at ease by what could simply be excellent acting. He watches her as she continues.

“All I know is this: those are just two of many things I found out after a few hours of research. My motivation was just to get enough to build enough of a case to approach you with. I wonder how much I could figure out if I was trying to convict or if I was forced to defend myself against, say a defamation lawsuit,” she emphasizes that last bit by raising one eyebrow before continuing, “I’ve read the comments on the articles, Mr. Drake-Wayne. I know most Gotham citizens think that your father is too entitled or irresponsible to care about measures to cut down on crime. But the thing is, I’m from Paris. I don’t have the problem of possessing that kind of prejudice. Actually, the only problem I’m having is trying to figure out what kind of sewing machine would be required to handle that sort of fabric we were discussing earlier and wondering if there was any way I could find out if Wayne Enterprises was in, or perhaps had been in possession of something fitting of those requirements. But again, who has the time and energy required to get those answers? Not me, not now at least. I might have a lot more time on my hands soon if I can no longer make the commute to work.”

She sighs then gathers her papers, places them back in the folder she’d brought out, and puts them away in her purse. Tim makes sure to force himself to keep his gaze on her face and his posture as relaxed as he could manage. Now, is not the time for the mask to slip. He keeps his face as blank as possible, trying hard to not give any reaction to her last couple of sentences despite how much they send his mind racing.

He’s still watching carefully as she raises her hands up in front of her chest, elbows still on the table, interlocking her fingers and letting her chin rest on top of them, meeting his gaze again. 

“I guess the only question that matters now is how long are you going to waste the time of everyone involved going over things you’re well aware of before you realize the best thing you could do for both of us is to just pay for the damn mirror? My research tells me you can afford it.”

Despite himself, Tim feels the urge to laugh at that last statement, or maybe it’s just the shock of working out how very f*cked he is right now. Dick’s supposed to be the one endangering their secret identities, not him dammit.

He takes a moment to evaluate the situation only to come to the exact same conclusion she said he would reach. Give her the money, see what she does after that. If this was in any way a scam, surely she would ask for more than-he looks down at the only paper she’d brought left on the table, the invoice- a hundred and fifty dollars. Okay then. He never liked to easily give into other people’s demands but he couldn’t deny that it really did seem like his best option at the moment. 

He plays the part of the weary, young CEO trying to avoid a scandal by sighing as he reaches into his jacket for his checkbook. He pauses for a second while writing down the company listed on the paper to look up and ask, “They do accept checks right?”

As he does this, he notices how her face has completely changed from a few moments ago. She looks a little dazed and seems unable to contain a much softer, less smirk-like smile and she shakes her head before replying, “Huh? Oh yes, they do!”

The utter contrast between this and the woman who’d stared him down while not-so-subtly tossing around accusations moments ago throws him off guard. He doesn’t know why he’s still surprised by that. It’s all she’d been doing since the first words left her mouth. This girl was a walking contradiction and he didn’t know what to do about that.

He hands over the check, mentally deciding to stay a bit longer at the coffee shop. After all, any other girls around couldn’t possibly be worse than this one. He needed to start thinking about how he was going to relay this conversation to Bruce. He notices his tablemate getting up to leave and quickly remembers something he wanted to ask before she left.

“Do you have a way I can contact you in case something comes up with the payment?” The excuse is reasonable enough he supposes.

“Oh, um yes,” she holds up one finger as she digs around in her purse for a second. Eventually, she hands over a pink business card covered in calligraphy his tired eyes are going to need a moment to make out. Nevertheless it was much better than the simple phone number he’d been expecting her to rattle off. Now he didn’t have to guess how to spell Dupain-Cheng.

He waits until she makes to leave again before starting to thoroughly examine the card but he doesn’t get much of a chance to before he realizes she’s stopped her departure a few feet away. He looks up just as she makes a half-turn back and asks, “The capes, they have a quick-release feature don’t they?” The expression on her face is pure, innocent curiosity.

The urge to scoff at this is just barely contained by his frustration with this whole encounter. Instead he manages to answer, “I wouldn’t know,” his face completely deadpan, eyes locked on hers.

She just gives one more small smirk and softly shakes her head at him before finally making her way out the door.

Once she’s out of view of the cafe windows, he finally gives into the desire to facepalm. Silently groaning as he massages his temples, it’s then he realizes there’s no way he’s telling B any of this. Not if he could help it. 

Looking back, Tim thinks he was already a little bit in love with her then.

**...**

_Holy crap it worked, it actually worked. He just-he… What? That actually worked?!_ Marinette just barely manages to make it past the storefront before she’s jumping up and down, dancing with excitement. In her defense, it’s been a while since a plan of hers actually managed to go smoothly. The fact that she was actually getting her fabric seems to sink in and she can’t contain the urge to celebrate.

She’s going to unlock her phone to call Alya and fill her in when she sees the Paris news article alert: “Mayor Bourgeois To Unveil Chat Noir Memorial Statue In Place de Vosges Park This Weekend”.

The wave of grief hits her like a train. The hand holding her phone falls limp to her side. Instantly, she’s taken back to a time when she used to celebrate victories with fist bumps, not phone calls.

_Breathe in for six, hold for six, out for six. Repeat._ Those are the words she keeps in her mind the whole subway ride home, paid for with the money she wouldn’t be spending on gas until her car was fixed. 

_He’d want you to be happy._

She knows that. She does. 

She _was_ happy, as happy as she could be. She was maybe even more happy than that moments ago. 

She was happy, is managing, will be happy. She will be happy. Soon. She'll be happy when her mirror is replaced. She’ll be happy when she can finally use that fabric she’s been wanting. She’ll be happy soon.

She would be happy without him. She could be. She’d seen proof of that minutes ago.

_So why did it still hurt so much?_

It takes her hours to reach a place where she could call Alya and even her friend’s excitement isn’t enough to get her mood to where it was before, during those brief moments, dancing on the sidewalk. 

It’s enough though. Enough for her to keep going. 

She didn’t have any other choice.

It might be small, but the smile on her face as she opened her sketchbook that night, was genuine.


	2. Discussions Over Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you I'd be back soon! I'm excited to know what you all think of this chapter! So tomorrow is the first anniversary of the first story I ever posted to AO3 and while I wished I timed it so that that story was the one being updated, I am really proud of how this chapter shows how much I've grown since I started H.A.D.C.A.A. I mean that in all ways, a lot can happen in a year, especially in the last year. So sentimentality over, I hope you like this update. Any and all feedback is always very much appreciated!

A few nights later, Tim is swinging through the streets of Gotham on his patrol as Red Robin. The section of the city he was covering tonight was relatively quiet in comparison to the ones the others were handling. He’s in the middle of aiming his grappling gun at the next building to keep up his momentum when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. He turns just in time to see a young woman being pulled back into an alley on the opposite street. He instantly changes targets.

He arrives too late. Not too late in the sense that he’s unable to prevent something awful from taking place but rather by the time he arrives, it’s incredibly clear his assistance is entirely unnecessary. The girl must be trained in self defense because right as he gets a view of them from the top of an adjacent building, he watches her use her assailant’s force against him and flips him over her shoulder. He slows his movements to rescue her and instead just observes. He was close enough to step in if he was needed but another strange man, even one as recognizable as his crime-fighting persona might not be something a woman in her position would want to see right now.

The struggle is unmistakably over at this point. A few sharp kicks to his head from her pointed shoe clad feet and the attacker is down for the count. Tim inwardly winces witnessing this, not in sympathy for the man but rather in gratitude that he is not the one on the other end of those weapons. 

As she turns away to face the building he’s on top of and takes a moment to compose herself, he finally gets a good look at her face and raises his eyebrows in surprise as he recognizes the girl from the cafe. This was not where he was expecting their next run-in to take place.

**...**

He had started digging into her almost immediately after she left his sight. When their identities were possibly compromised, there was no time to sit around and hope for the best. That was not how the Bats were trained. He spared only enough time to order another cup of coffee to help recover from the shock she’d given him before starting. By the time he got home to his penthouse apartment the night of their first meeting, Tim already had a binder gathered compared to her measly folder. She didn’t know that she was playing him at his own game as soon as research was involved. 

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, 22, was born in Paris, France to a pair of locally renowned bakers. She was currently in the city on a student visa as she attended Gotham U, double majoring in business and fashion design. She had already gotten most her prerequisites done through online schooling back in Paris and was now in her junior year having been in Gotham for the past eighteen months. The website listed on the business card she’d given him told him she was working as a freelance designer around school. He supposed that explained why she’d been well dressed despite being in need of money. 

Everything lined up. There was nothing in recent years that brought up any suspicion. She lived like any normal tired college student trying to make ends meet. 

He’d had to go further back.

In France, she’d gone to a prestigious public high school near her home that hosted the children of some of Paris’s most elite families, including but not limited to the daughter of the Mayor of Paris and the son of former internationally recognized fashion mogul, Gabriel Agreste. It was the latter who Tim had shifted some of his focus to early on in his investigation. 

Agreste was revealed as the masked terrorist known as Hawkmoth about three years ago. The hero team of Paris ( _Because apparently that’s a thing_ ) ultimately confronted him. His son, the well known model, and Marinette’s classmate, Adrien was killed in the encounter. Witnesses say it was at Agreste’s own hand which possibly explains why he reportedly turned himself in after that, however not before he also managed to kill one of the main savoirs of Paris, the Black Cat.

Tim had needed a couple minutes to digest that information, something that rarely happens considering all the things he had seen over the years. Then he gave himself a few minutes to compile all the questions jumping around in his mind. 

He had called B to see why the Justice League hadn’t stepped in, giving some weak excuse along the lines of a French novel he was reading mentioned the incident. His father just said they only became aware of it shortly before the final battle and the young heroes disappeared shortly after. The ones left anyway went unsaid.

After that, the biggest question that remained was what did this have to do with the girl. Well, another thing he had found out during his digging was her relationship to the deceased Agreste heir appeared to be more than friendly if the photos the French paparazzi had taken over the years were anything to go on which Tim wasn’t sure that it was. In any case, he had a pretty good idea of what had driven the young girl to move away from the City of Love. Why she ended up in Gotham however still wasn’t clear. New York made more sense. It seemed like a better choice for an aspiring fashion designer, especially considering her relationship to the Bourgeois family meant she already had connections there.  
There was something that didn’t sit right with him about the whole situation. Say she left Paris over her grief for Adrien Agreste, why Gotham? Even if she didn’t find New York appealing for some reason, maybe there was still some animosity between her and the Bourgeois heiress over what seemed to be a love triangle involving the model, why Gotham of all places? It just seemed like two much of a coincidence that someone with connections like hers would spend so much time under the radar in the City of Crime and then suddenly find herself in _his_ path.

There was a brief moment during his research after he first made the connection between her and the Agreste boy when he wondered if she was the type of girl who liked to chase after rich, well known, young men. If _that_ was why she had approached him in the cafe. Perhaps if it had been someone else, he wouldn’t have dismissed that theory so quickly but over and over again he replayed their encounter in his head. Again and again he saw the circles under her eyes, the soft, shocked smile on her face when he gave into her request. Why, despite their bizarre meeting, did he want to believe her intentions were as she’d said?

His findings had given him some answers but he was still left with mainly more questions. He had gotten used to the monotony of his current life. (Wakeup from coffee coma, work, boss idiots around during the day, work, switch suits, punch idiots in the face at night, pass out. Repeat. All the while, coffee, coffee, coffee.) Not much surprised him these days. Maybe that was why he hadn’t stopped thinking about the girl who had. How she’d compile a folder to face him with just because of a car mirror. How she hadn’t blinked when he’d threatened to sue her but instead had smiled.

He had found himself on multiple occasions the last few days, staring at the rectangular piece of stationery she handed him before leaving, wondering how soon he could call that number on it and how good of an excuse for them to meet again he could come up with. From where he was standing, he had found all the information he could from purely online research. The only answers he could get moving forward would have to come from the girl herself. 

The one who’d just single-handedly taken down a man twice her size.

Would he ever be left with more answers than questions? Not wanting to miss anything while lost in his thoughts, he turns his attention back to the alley and remembers the role he has to play. Putting his knowledge of her aside, he tries to watch the girl in the alley as if she was just anyone who’d just gone through a traumatizing experience.

**…**

_Seriously? Seriously, universe? What did I ever do to you?_

This was just getting ridiculous. She didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry or kick the guy on the ground one more time. She never liked hurting people but given what he had been trying to do, he probably deserved it.

_Breathe. It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be fine. Just a couple more days, just a couple more days and you’ll have your car back. Okay? It’s going to be okay._

Now she was really glad Tim Drake-Wayne hadn’t insisted on taking her to court. It might’ve been a bluff on her part but in any case she was grateful that she wasn’t going to have to wait longer than the week it took for the parts needed to be shipped in before she was back to her regular night drive commute. This whole walking home from the nearest subway stop was not going as smoothly as she’d hoped. She was honestly considering just calling in sick for her next couple shifts but the money… She really needed the money.

She sighs into the cold night air before realizing she just wanted to be getting home, which led to her realizing she had a bit of a problem lying on the ground a few feet away. 

_Shit._

Bad enough he attacked her, now she had to figure out what to do with him. She couldn’t just leave him there, right? What if he went after someone else? She pulls out her phone only to find out the battery’s dead and then she’s very much leaning toward crying at this point. 

She couldn’t stay here long. That was just asking for trouble. Maybe she can call the police from her apartment. She just has to hope he stays out for that long. Or… 

She starts looking around for something she can restrain him with. The best option she can come up with is the scarf around her neck. After she takes it off, she spends minutes gazing down at it in her hands, debating whether or not she can actually bring herself part with it when eventually her tiredness wins out and she uses it to tie the man’s hands around his back. She knows the material won’t tear easily and it should give her enough time to make it home and call the police. She makes a note to herself to remember to ask them to hold her scarf till she could pick it up at the station or maybe if she was lucky they might bring it to her when they asked for a statement.

Either way, the situation is handled for the time being. She just needs to get home. She gives herself one more moment in the alley to take a deep breath as she musters up the energy to make the rest of the journey to her apartment, making sure getting that scarf back never leaves the forefront of her thoughts. The exhaustion she feels puts her at risk for forgetting.

**…**

As soon as she is back on the street, he jumps down into the alley. He doesn’t have that much time to spend there if he wants to make sure she gets to her destination safely.

“Oracle, can you send a squad car to my location? I have an attempted assaulter restrained and knocked out on the ground,” he says, while replacing the scarf with a BatTie. If he tightens them enough to hurt, who cares. 

“Okay. They’re on their way. ETA ten minutes,” the voice coming from the comm answers.

“Let them know I won’t be sticking around. I want to make sure the victim gets home safely.” He’s said those exact words many times before but for some reason calling _her_ a victim felt… wrong. She was one of course, just because she could defend herself didn’t mean she should have to but… Oh, he did not have time for this. Best not to give Barbra any reason to ask questions.

He doesn’t even wait for her response of “Will do”, before he’s making his way back onto the rooftops. Once he’s there he can see that she’s made it nearly half a block further already. Well he couldn’t blame her for being in a hurry.

His training allows him to catch up quickly yet silently and then they are walking parallel through the night. He examines her for any signs of shock but she’s not outwardly displaying any. 

They travel that way for another fifty feet when she stops suddenly for no reason apparent to him. The way she instantly turns and zeroes in on his current position reminds Tim of something out of a horror movie. She tilts her head over one shoulder, examining him while reaching to her side for something that if his eyes aren’t deceiving isn’t there before he can see the recognition dawning in her eyes.

“You, you’re the one who broke my car mirror,” she says, calmly if a little confused.

_Man, she just couldn’t let that go._

All he gives her in response is the slightest nod of his head.

“So why are you following me?” she asks this as she continues walking, somewhat slower this time and Tim can’t tell if it’s because she’s intrigued by him or if she finds his presence comforting after what happened earlier or if she’s just being polite and he really needs to stop looking too deeply into these things. _Get a grip, Tim._

Why silence was her only answer could be for a number of reasons. B had taught him to always give away as little as possible and that included words. ( _“Don’t use Dick as an example, I don’t know how he hasn’t been recognized yet,”_ had been his exact words. Tim had been too tired that day to bother pointing out that the fact that him joining their family in the first place was in fact because Dick _had_ been recognized by _him_.) There was also the possibility that he simply hadn’t wanted to remind her of the incident he’d witnessed just in case it upset her again so soon.

Both of these options were what he used to justify his lack of words, internally denying that the true reason was that he struggled with what to say to her. He did not want to admit to himself how much this girl unsettled him. Tim was never one to mince words. It was normally that fact that made people upset with him, not the opposite.

If she’s perturbed by his silence, she doesn’t show any sign of it and instead continues to carry the conversation. “I don’t suppose you’ve come to pay the bill for that by any chance.”

He cocks his head to one side. That’s the only sign he gives her that he’s still listening. If words failed him before, he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do now. He does not want to have to endure another conversation about that cursed mirror.

She continues undaunted, “Well if that’s the case I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place. You’ll have to reimburse your friend Timothy Drake-Wayne for that. He was kind enough to cover the costs for me.”

He will not scoff at this. He was too experienced with keeping his emotions hidden to make a mistake like that. So he makes a different one, unable to stop himself from replying, “That’s not how I heard it went down. From what I’ve been told, he only gave in after you threw some very serious allegations his way.” 

_Shit. Nice going idiot. What a f*cking rookie mistake._

And of course, of course she picks up on it. He sees it when she turns to face him with her brows raised. God forbid this girl let him get away with anything. He’s just counting on the voice distorter to keep her from recognizing him. Pity it couldn’t stop her for recognizing his words for what they were.

The average person might not have realized what he’d just given away but since the beginning Marinette had made it clear she was far from average. What was even the point of him continually denying any connection between himself and Red Robin if he was just going to spout off some information he could’ve only gotten from his secret identity while wearing the mask? He quickly checks that he remembered to mute his comm before leaving the alley and then mentally gives a sigh of relief. The only thing that could make this situation worse was if Barbra was listening in on his blunder. 

“Well looks like they weren’t only allegations, huh? In any case, he was kind enough to waste both our times taking it to court,” she gloats. Well she says it quite matter of factly actually. It just comes across like gloating to Tim. Maybe that’s why his next words are what they are.

“I would be careful where you go poking around, Miss. The Wayne family is very powerful. They’re not the kind of people you want to be making enemies out of.” If B ever learned of this conversation, he would never hear the end of that lecture. What the hell was he doing?

Watching the girl on the ground, he sees the way she freezes as soon as the words are out. He wonders if he’s finally managed to ruffle her feathers when she turns to face him completely. The look of her face makes him brace himself.

**…**

_How dare he? Who did this caped punk think he is?_

Marinette hadn’t known this for a long time but in recent years she had discovered that she had a bit of temper. The thing was her self control being so strong, rarely did she ever reach the tipping point. 

Well, after the night she’d had could you really blame her for reaching it now.

Something about him standing there, in those colors, on that rooftop. The way his presence was commanding, so fear-inspiring. Something about the way it made her remember how helpless she had felt being pulled back in that alley with no pretty pair of earrings to save her this time, just herself, alone. The memory of how his sudden appearance had her reaching to her side for a yo-yo that was no longer there...

It was enough for him to simply stand there, powerful as he was, and remind her of how powerless she felt, but then to say that to her face? If her self control was a leash, it had just snapped.

She whirls on him and despite the fact that he’s on a rooftop and she’s 5’3, she can’t help but feel like she’s looking down on some disgusting, pitiful creature. “ _You_ have a lot of nerve. Some hero you are, to threaten someone simply because they’re trying to clean up your mess. I’m sorry if this is new to you, _Mister_ , but your actions have consequences and I will not be paying the price for something you did. So what if the Wayne’s are powerful? If anything that means they should be held _more_ accountable for their actions, or the actions of the people they choose to support.

“I don’t know why you thought I would in any way care for the advice of someone who doesn’t even care how their choices affect others but in case I haven’t made it clear yet, I don’t. So maybe you can find something better to do with your night than trying to intimidate me like I don’t know, fighting crime? Isn’t that supposed to be your thing? What is it, a slow night or something?” she tilts her head forward, trying to see if he has anything to say to defend himself. He doesn’t.

It’s as she’s studying him, waiting for a reply that the situation dawns on her. Her phone is dead, the street is quiet, and a strange man trained in combat is following her. Whatever ease she had felt when she first recognized him evaporates. She takes a couple of steps away.

“Why are you following me?” her words sound frantic to her, she wonders if he can tell, “Was that it then? You came here just to threaten me? What-”

He cuts her off, “No.” It’s a single word, a single syllable, and it makes her pause. It hadn’t come out harsh but it had been firm. 

“Why then?” The moments of silence after her question don’t help her suspicions.

He seems to be thinking carefully about his answer before settling on, “I wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

What a ridiculous answer. “I’m quite capable of defending myself actually.” She doesn’t know why but she feels comfortable enough to start walking again but she does.

“Yes,” he pauses before he continues, “I’m aware of that.”

She must be getting at least a little used to his lack of words because all she does is turn for a moment to raise an eyebrow at him before turning her attention back to the sidewalk ahead of her. “Oh? And you know that how exactly?”

When he hesitates to answer for a minute, she shifts her focus back to him. Noticing this, he tips his head back to signal behind them. It takes a moment, but she understands.

She pulls her coat tighter around her and tries not to think about it too much. She just wanted to get home.

“I didn’t see you swooping in to save the day. Willing to let someone else take care of a problem of yours if it means not having to get your hands dirty?” She knows the words are cruel as soon as they’re out but she can’t take them back.

“ _No._ By the time I arrived, you already had the situation under control and given… the circumstances I didn’t think my presence would be welcome.” He keeps his gaze straight ahead the whole time he says this, the words come out fast but firm.

She looks down at her feet as she says, “Right. Sorry.” The words are weak but she’s too tired to let the guilt consume her now. There’d be time enough for that once she was home.

Speaking of home, they were almost there. The last hundred feet are passed in silence. She stops before her building, unsure of what to say. She was still so confused about things. Her brain felt muddled. In the end, he starts the conversation for once.

“I’m sorry too.” The words are quiet but still reach her. His figure on the rooftop next to her building is facing her but his head is turned away.

That was not what she was expecting. Unsure of herself, she just gives him a small nod of acknowledgment, one she isn’t even sure he sees before heading instead. She’s almost through the door when-

“Wait.” 

For the first time that whole night, they are on equal ground as he jumps down from the rooftop and hands something out to her. She recognizes it immediately.

The sky blue scarf dangles from his hand. The sight of it makes her want to cry in relief.

She reaches out to take it, meeting his eyes behind his domino mask as she says, “Thank you,” with as much sincerity as she’s ever capable of.

He just gives her a nod before firing his grapple gun off into the distance. She looks up from staring at the scarf in time to see him swing away. His red and black uniform reminds her of when she used to do that and his billowing cape makes her wish she’d had one of those back in her crime-fighting days.

She brings the scarf up to her faces and hugs it to her cheek, softly smiling to herself as she heads inside.

**…**

When Tim gets home that night, or the next morning to be more accurate, he sits down and goes through the binder again, wondering if he was left with more or less questions than he’d had when he was suiting up for patrol earlier. Once more he plays their entire exchange that night on repeat in his head, pausing sometimes at the moments right before they’d parted ways. The look in her eyes as she thanked him for the scarf wouldn’t leave him alone. He runs a hand through his hair then rubs his face with the other, and thinks everything over.

Looking down at the pages the binder was open to, he gets an answer to a question he didn’t even know he had when he sees that same sky blue scarf he’d returned in a glossy photograph, wrapped around the neck of Adrien Agreste as he smiles and waves at the camera. When the rerun starts again, he doesn’t still have his earlier assumption that the reason she paused before binding the man was because she didn’t want to touch her attacker. A different reason seemed more likely now.

Another piece of the puzzle, one he wasn’t even sure why he still wanted to solve.

The way she had acted toward him, or rather his crime-fighting persona, wasn’t… curious. He’d been acting this whole time like she was trying to uncover his secrets but that girl on the street didn’t seem remotely interested. In fact, she seemed like she just wanted to be left alone.

Which in theory, was good for him. If this all was really just about a stupid side mirror, everything was fine. Everything was under control, or maybe that last part was a bit of a stretch. He truly couldn’t predict what that girl would do next, especially now that he’d gone and offended her. Jesus Christ, what was he thinking? Now, his thoughts were stuck on the surprise on her face when he’d apologized. 

Suddenly, Tim feels a wave of exhaustion wash over him. Immediately going to make himself a cup of coffee, his gaze lands on the pink card on the counter. 

No, this wasn’t over yet. He couldn’t let this go. She may not turn out to be a problem, but Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a mystery and one he intended to solve.

Putting down the coffee pot, he decides maybe a good night’s sleep might help him for once. He wanted to arm himself with every tool at his disposal. Most cases he faced these days didn’t require nearly so much effort but it was… interesting to have a challenge for a change. So just this once, he’d get some rest. But tomorrow, tomorrow he’d get to work.

The last image in his mind before he falls asleep is a pair of bright blue eyes whose depths he feels like he could drown in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do we feel about that last line? Is it too cliche, too cheesy? At first, it was just a pair of bright blue eyes but that didn't sit quite right so I added a bit and now I still not sure about it but I can't bring myself to cut it. Anyway, I definitely want to get chapter three out soon but unlike the first two it wasn't finished when I started posting and it's still not quite done at the moment. It should be out at most by the end of the month but it might just take a week or two I don't know. Like I said before once it's posted I'll be alternating posting between my two stories because I love them both and I need to get back to my babies in H.A.D.C.A.A. So till next time! I really appreciate any feedback ya'll have! Stay safe and stay sane! <3


	3. Turndowns Over Telephones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The author had _way_ too much fun writing this chapter. Guess who's back? Me! Yay! I was kind of expecting this chapter to be a shorter one but this fic just loves dragging words out of me. I love it. Please let me know what you think of this one! Any and all feedback is very much appreciated, especially comments! Hope you enjoy! (Someone needs to restrict my use of exclamation points, my god.)

Marinette had always liked to sleep in long before she was a college student and part-time bartender. Now that she was… Don’t hold your breath expecting her to be up and coherent before noon after a work night. All of her friends and family learned that lesson a long time ago. So when the phone call comes a few days later, the morning after she’d worked a double shift, is it really so surprising how poorly it started off?

She never bothered to change any of her phone’s ringtones or alarms from the default ones. She never saw any reason for it, till now of course. So when her phone rings at eleven in the morning, (Yes, eleven o'clock is still technically morning mind you), she’s too sleepy to notice that it's not in fact the alarm she’d set to wake her up for her afternoon class but instead a phone call from an unknown number. She thinks she’s pressing the snooze button but in reality she’d just hit accept.

The silence that follows gives her no reason to suspect what she’d done until a voice says, “Uh, hello?”

She was already half-awake at this time. She knows all too well that hitting snooze only gives her a short reprieve. Given that she lived alone and the fact that her head was lying nearly against the nightstand where her phone was resting, a man’s voice suddenly in her ear shocks her to say the least and well, she had also always been clumsy.

She manages to bang her head on both the nightstand and the headboard in quick succession. (Ow.) It takes her a bit to get her bearings and see where the voice was coming from and while it wasn’t usual for her to accept calls from unknown numbers, her drowsy mind figured it was too late to turn back now.

Bringing the phone to her ear, she gives a barely intelligible, “Herwo?”

“Uh, is this Marinette Dupain-Cheng I’m speaking to?” A hint of confusion underlies this.

She nods her head before realizing she’s required to speak, “Mmhmm. Who is it?

“Yes. Hello. This is Tim Drake. I was calling to follow up after the other day.” The words are delivered businessman- like but not cold or unkindly.

Her brain is still foggy as she replies, “Tim? Huh, sorry I don’t know any Tims.”

Her muddled mind expects him to reply with “Sorry, wrong number,” and definitely not, “Uh, I believe you called me Mister Drake-Wayne the other day.” There’s a pause before he goes, “This is Marinette Dupain-Cheng right?”

Well at least last time she checked. 

Hmmm Mister Drake-Wayne, Mr. Drake-Wayne, what was he a teacher? Why would she- Mister Drake-Wayne! 

If she had the energy she would’ve bolted straight up. Her eyes open wide for the first time that morning as she scrambles to remember the whole conversation so far while forcing herself to sit up. _What did he want? Not a lawsuit, please not a lawsuit. No takesies backsies! Surely even billionaires know about that rule too right? Right?!_

“Mr. Drake-Wayne! Pardon my lack of recognition.” That was a nice way of calling it, she supposed, “I thought we already concluded our business with each other. I was not expecting your phone call,” to put it lightly. She’s scrambling now, “Um, did something go wrong with the transaction? I’m not aware of any changes on my end... ”

“No. I believe everything is in order. I just wanted to go over some of the things we discussed last time but it looks like I caught you at a bad time,” he explains.

“Uh yeah any time before noon is usually a bad time,” she replies without thinking. Sleep deprivation loosens her tongue apparently.

He gives a short laugh before saying, “Yeah. I can understand that.”

“Well, I’m up now so you might as well run me through what you wanted to discuss while I make myself a cup of coffee. If it’s all the same to you that is?” she asks resigning herself to getting out of bed.

“Of course, or actually if you want we could meet at a coffee shop in say, an hour I guess. How’s that sound?” he offers in a casual tone.. 

It sounds like he thinks she could actually manage to get dressed and you know be presentable in forty minutes(accounting for traveling time that is) and while she could if really wanted to given that she’d had a lot of practice of getting ready in a rush, at the moment she did not in fact really want to.

“I don’t know what kind of coffee drinker you take me for Mr. Drake-Wayne, but quality makes no difference this soon after waking. My machine is just as good as any other at being a fuel source,” she says, her phone now lodged between her shoulder and her ear as she moves about her small kitchen.

“Well then if you don’t my intrusion on your morning…” he trails off.

“Nope, go ahead.” She leans against the counter while she waits for the coffee pot to work it’s magic.

“Right,” he pauses and Marinette can just barely hear the sound of papers being shuffled through the phone before he continues, “So, you mentioned everything’s well on your end. Is the installation already done then? I wouldn’t think it’d take long.”

“Yeah, in theory, the mechanic said the installation would be quick enough. It’s just taking long because they needed to order in the particular type of mirror that would match my car,” she explains, gathering the materials she’d need for her afternoon class as she speaks. “Fortunately, they called yesterday to say it arrived. I should be able to pick it up later today.”

“Ah, I see. That’s good.” There’s a slight pause before he continues. “I don’t mean to be rude but I was wondering. Couldn’t your insurance have covered the cost?” 

“Oh, believe me I tried,” she starts, remembering all the frustration she’d felt a few days earlier and reminding herself that it was all under control now. “I don’t know if you and your… associates are aware but a lot of insurance companies have implemented policies that make it so they aren’t liable for damages caused by villains, or superheroes for that matter. At first I thought it was my own mistake, that I’d just chosen a fraudulent business or didn’t read through the agreements clearly enough but I did some digging and it’s actually something a lot of bigger corporations are starting to apply while not making it abundantly apparent to their customers. Out of curiosity, I looked into the top ten car insurance companies used by Gothamites and seven of the ten have adopted at least somewhat similar policies, a couple applying only to damages done by heroes, others only ones done by villains.”

There’s a distinct pause before he says, “Tell me you’re joking.” His voice is much flatter now.

She gives a humorless laugh before saying, “Yeah, I wish. Believe me when I say I only accost businessmen in coffee shops as a last resort.” Oh god, did she really have to go and remind him about that? Just when they had been starting to manage a civil conversation, one that did not include any subtle threats this time.

She’s surprised when instead of taking offense he actually gives a little laugh at this, even if she can’t help but notice he sounds a little tired in his manner as well. _Still, it’s a nice laugh._ (She’ll blame her tired mind and sleepiness for that thought later.)

**…**

He had told himself that this time, this time he wouldn’t let himself be taken by surprise. He chose the time and place himself. Well the place he could only control on his end but he felt a lot more sure of himself in his office at Wayne Enterprises, looking down through the windows at the city below from his place behind his desk. He’d planned out exactly what he was going to say, practiced exactly how he wanted to come across: the charming CEO, apologetic for his previous rudeness, merely mildly curious as to a few of the minor details of their initial meeting. 

The whole plan was thrown out the window the moment she answered, or rather didn’t answer before two large thuds came through the phone. At first he had gotten a kick out of managing to catch her off guard for once. _Oh, how the tables have turned,_ he’d thought before quickly realizing he was completely unprepared to deal with a sleepy Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

The first few sentences of the call were some of the awkwardest moments of his life. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He kept shifting in his chair, for a second he’d felt the urge to get up and pace about his office, before trying to keep the illusion of composure. He looked down at his plan, trying to figure out how to get the conversation back into familiar territory but while he had made contingencies, none of them covered what to do if she _forgets your name_.

Jeez, how many people like him did this girl go around confronting?

When she finally recognizes him however, it gives him no small amount of amusement to watch her scramble for decorum. Although he can’t help wishing for more of an opportunity to observe her with her guard down. It seems like she’s not completely back on her game yet though because he didn’t think that had she’d been fully awake, some of her responses would be as… frank as they were. Multiple times he finds himself looking up at the ceiling with a small grin on his face.

This girl, she was amusing. He could never predict what to expect from her next and she gives another example of that when she turns down meeting him for coffee. He couldn’t think of any other acquaintance of his who would do that, not without a better excuse than they manage well enough on their own.

He can’t help but respect her. She made it hard not to. Her views on coffee seemed perfectly aligned with his own. When she mentions her car mirror being ordered he recalls back to his research when he’d found that her car had been the red one he’d passed that night. Yet another way in which their tastes matched. And of course there was their mutual love of… research. 

So maybe the phone call isn’t going how he was expecting but maybe that didn’t mean it wasn’t still going well. At least when taking into account that his main goal was just to learn more about her and he was definitely doing that. She seemed a lot less reserved when she was sleepy.

But of course things could never go well for long in his world. If it wasn’t idiots in costume ruining his day then it had to be greedy rich men. God, he could already feel a headache coming on just thinking about the insurance problem. The sad thing was the only thing that surprised him about it all was that he hadn’t heard about it before now. Truthfully, it seemed like exactly the kind of move the heads of large corporations would take to further their own interests. Shit. _Shit._

It was a good thing he got that full night’s rest a few nights ago. He wasn’t going to have any free time for a while. _Seven out of ten, Jesus Christ._ Bruce was not going to be happy about this.

Hearing her account that she only “accosted” him as a last resort can’t help but pull a laugh from him but despite that, his mood is definitely dampened for the time being. He resigns himself to just getting through the last of the questions he wants to cover quickly so he could get to compiling the reports to brief B. It’s too bad. He was actually enjoying himself for a moment there.

“Well, I’m glad to know that I’m a special case,” he says, “Wait, so hold on. How have you been getting around while your car’s been in the shop?” The question of course was just for appearances’ sake but hopefully it would give him an opening to help her out a little more. Anything to draw out their acquaintance was worth trying considering their call was coming to a close.

He looks down at his notepad (it’s a physical one this time) and gets ready to add her answer to his notes.

**...**

Huh. That was not the kind of question she’d thought he’d ask. She wasn’t really expecting someone with his networth to even consider just how much she’d be inconvenienced by the whole situation. Marinette was willing to bet (anything but money and side mirrors) that the pretty rich boy had at least five cars to his name, all outrageously expensive and practically interchangeable. What would the loss of one car mirror be to him? Wait a minute, pretty?! _Where did that come from?_

God, she really needed to hurry up and answer but she was having trouble remembering the question. That out-of-nowhere thought from before had thrown her off. She hadn’t called a boy pretty since… _Nope. No time to go_ there _right now. What did he just ask? What was it, what was it- Right!_ “How have I been getting around you ask? Well, I guess I can at least be thankful Mister Yum decided to take off the mirror on a Friday. I hadn’t had a chance to fill up my gas tank yet so I’ve been using the money I would’ve used on that for the subway fees.”

_There we go- WHAT DID I JUST SAY?! Tell me I didn’t. No no no no no. I did_ not.

A muffled bang comes through from his side of the phone. There’s a clearing of a throat and then- “Mister Yum?” he asks a slightly amused voice. 

_I did, I really did. Oh my god. Kill me now. Just get it over with._ If she was still in her bed, she would’ve been unable to resist the urge to burrow under the covers and curl up in embarrassment.

Along with her vicious temper, another discovery Marinette had made in recent years was that she’d like to give the people who really annoyed her… nicknames. Naturally, it had started with Lila who she had always thought of in her head as Lie-la before she stole Chloe’s way of referring to her as Sausage Hair. 

Since then the names came and went, some more creative than others. (She had never thought of anything clever for Hawkmoth who she still thought of as f*ckface in her head. Although, she used to call Mr. Agreste Mr. Passive Aggressive before she realized that the Passive part was _not_ accurate.) There was a girl in a couple of her design classes she referred to as Miss Fish because she never seemed to close her mouth, barely ever coming up for air when going on and on about all her various connections in the fashion world. She’d also recently taken to calling the car insurance company, the Pennybags people. If she’d ever come across their CEO she supposed she’d call him Mr. Monopoly himself. 

Given that he’d already made her to-punch list, it really wasn’t surprising she’d given Red Robin a nickname as well, especially when his name was just too easy to make fun of. Which was how she found herself in her current situation.

She was honestly considering just hanging up right there but… she kinda owed the guy. Not much, mind you but she figured she at least owed him the answers to his questions since he was the reason she was able to get her nice fabric. Plus, she didn’t want him reporting back to his _friend_ that she was in any way embarrassed or contrite by the lack of respect she showed the vigilante. 

**…**

Could she just like, give him a break for once? He’d had honestly thought he’d had the conversation under control but now…! There was no contingency plan for his current situation! Mister Yum? What did she even mean by that? I mean sure, of course he’d heard the joke before but never _quite_ like that. Given her behavior towards Red Robin the other day… He did not know what to make of this. _Obviously._ His knee still hurt from when he banged it on the desk a moment ago. 

Suffice to say, he was very interested in hearing her next words.

“Yeah. Seriously though, did no one try to talk him out of that? Are the names not subject to approval from the Big Bat? I mean isn’t intimidation a part of their brand? He should ask the Red Hood for tips on whatever he’s got going on. I mean I’d definitely be a bit unnerved by that guy if our paths ever crossed.”

… _Okay, rude._

So she definitely making fun of him then and not-Okay. Duh. You didn’t need to be the World’s Greatest Detective to figure that one out. Still, comparing him and Jason was just uncalled for. Murder. _Murder_ is what Jason had going on.

“I see. So the nickname isn’t meant to imply you like…” There’s a short pause before he realizes he has to finish that sentence and continues awkwardly, “...whatever he’s already got going on.” (Marinette’s not the only one dying of mortification at this point.)

She gives an awkward but honest laugh at this. “Haha, no. Not in this lifetime.”

“Still bitter about the mirror then?” _Crap._ He did not mean to say that out loud. Obviously he didn’t mean it as anything but a joke but he wasn’t sure she would understand that. He really needed to figure out how to get through a conversation without offending her.

To his relief, she just lightheartedly scoffs at this and says, “I don’t think I’ll ever _not_ be bitter about the mirror. I mean, I might be a little relieved it was a Friday and everything worked out, but he still picked the wrong day to make my life a little harder.” There’s a pause as she thinks on it. “ Days, actually now.”

“Days?” he asks, not injecting any extra curiosity into his tone as he would have if he was talking to someone else. He had a feeling she would be able to sense its insincerity. Despite being highly aware they were heading towards… delicate territory in terms of discussion topics, Tim was secretly glad that he had managed his goal of finding some way to get her to mention her run in with his alter ego the other day. He really wanted her perspective on… _everything_.

It was only natural of course. Since she had opened up the conversation on his superhero identity, surely no one could blame him for wanting to know her thoughts. If anyone else ever met someone as interesting as Marinette Dupain-Cheng, they would know what it felt like.

(Well as they say, curiosity killed the cat, or in this case, the bat.

**…**

Coffee was a fantastic restorer of the mind, when used correctly that was. (Take notes, Tim.)

Marinette was wide awake now. She had been since her word vomit earlier. (Overwhelming embarrassment was also a good way to become instantly alert.)The situation had finally become completely apparent to her and now she was the one with questions. 

In the last few minutes of their conversation, she had realized that the Tim Drake-Wayne she was talking to now was not the same man she’d faced in the cafe the other day. He was… different. Too different. Too kind, too charming, too invested in an exchange that in his eyes should’ve ended with their last meeting.

Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking on her part. Surely she should’ve anticipated that digging up the kind of information she had would raise questions about her intentions. Either way, she was no longer buying this “follow-up” was exactly as he’d presented it. His last question only raised her suspicions some more.

He had definitely shared the details of their meeting with Red Robin. (She wasn’t even calling him Mister Yum in her head anymore. She didn’t dare risk repeating her mistakes.) The bat could’ve only gotten his information from the CEO. So, why wouldn’t that exchange of information work both ways? Was she really supposed to believe that the vigilante hadn’t told his business partner about their meeting? And then there was his threat...

Looking back now she found it strange that instead of using the infamous reputation of his fellow crime-fighters, he had threatened her with the power of the Wayne family. That didn’t make sense. The threat itself was odd but the fact that the main Wayne involved didn’t know anything about it was even odder. 

Unless he was lying, playing dumb maybe, trying to falsely put her at ease? That she could believe. 

She’d researched him. She knew that he was smarter than the average 24-year old, that there was a reason Bruce Wayne had passed down his company to his third son and not any of the others. She’d seen the cover of the Forbes article he’d graced a couple months ago. If he was involved in something, she highly doubted he’d be kept in the dark about it. 

So what was going on here? _Hmmm… How do I play this, how do I play this?_

Well… if there was anyone who had something to explain about that night, it wasn’t her. 

“Yeah, I ran into him the other night. I would’ve thought he’d mention it to you. Don’t worry about having to get your wallet out again. He didn’t break any mirrors _this_ time. It wasn’t quite as bad an interaction as the last one. I actually would’ve been grateful for the escort home. That is, had he not threatened me with,” she pauses for a second here, partly to make it seem like she was actually trying to remember something, partly to make him sweat. “Oh, I don’t remember what it was exactly but it was something about facing the full force of the Wayne family? I don’t suppose you know anything about that Mister Drake-Wayne?” She doesn’t put any emphasis on that last syllable. She’s learned a thing or two about subtlety in the last couple years.

**…**

… _Did I just get uno-reversed? Did she really just uno-reverse me? I think she did. Huh._

He thought he’d be more upset about this. He was very competitive when he wanted to be. His own family refused to play most board/card games with him now (including Uno)because they had gotten tired of always losing. Someone else might’ve put up a protest to that but the thing is, winning all the time quite frankly got boring. 

So maybe he should feel a little disappointed he wouldn’t get the answer he wanted from her or perhaps be a little frustrated that he had now had to explain his other identity’s behavior the other night, however that wasn’t the case. In fact, currently Tim was damn near delighted. Too delighted in fact. It unsettled him how invested he was in this conversation, how quickly this girl had gotten under his skin. But maybe, just maybe he had gotten under hers too.

“That does sound like him,” he mutters through clenched teeth, knowing she could still hear him. “I can’t say that I knew anything about this beforehand or heard anything about it until now. I don’t know where he got the idea from. I can assure you, Miss Dupain-Cheng,” _Marinette, Marinette. When can I call her that?_ This battle of wits was too personal for them to not be on a first name basis yet. “His threat was an empty one. I am more than willing to respect the agreement we came to the other day. It’s only fair. In fact, if anything he should be the one in hot water. After all, you’re the one suffering from his carelessness and I’m the one having to pay for it .” 

There’s a slight pause before she replies, “You know, I told him to pay you back for that. Maybe you should add it to his tab.” 

He laughs at this. If she only knew how much his family didn't like having outstanding debts. 

He’s thinking of an equally clever reply when she goes on, “Thanks for the reassurance anyway. I’m glad to know we’re on the same page.” He agreed with that sentiment entirely. The only problem was he didn’t know which book they were reading. Yet.

“Of course. You should never have had to put up with any of this. I’m glad to help in any way I can,” he said, and that was the truth. 

Yes, he had questions. Sure, maybe he wanted to push her buttons a little, see how she worked under a little bit of pressure. But that scene in the street he had played over and over in his head the other night had never truly left him. Nor had the image of the dark circles under her nearly vacant eyes as she’d stared out the cafe window. She wasn’t a threat anymore (if she ever was). Sometime over the last week that had changed. Now she was just someone who fascinated him, whose life he didn’t want to make any harder than he already had, quite the opposite actually.

“You’ve already done all I could ask for and speaking of asking things, I just noticed the time. Do you have a lot of questions left? I need to start getting ready for my afternoon class soon you see,” she explains.

The immediate disappointment he feels following this surprises even Tim. Of course, it was going to have to end soon. He had a meeting that in a couple hours and a lot of work to get done before then. Not to mention he needed to get started on investigating those new insurance policies. That was now at the top of his to-do list. So yes he had things to do, all of which were leagues more important than... whatever this was. 

Yet, with where they stood now, if the call ended here there would be nothing left tying them together. 

_Maybe that’s a good thing. You don’t need any distractions._

He pauses for a moment to think on this. _From what? Paperwork? The same sorts of reports I’ve made at least a hundred times? Meetings with board members who waste half the time trying to find a way to undermine me?_

_What about your other work then? Tell me she didn’t distract you from that the other night. She’s trouble and you don’t need that right now._

He mentally scoffs at this. _Yes, you got me. She totally got attacked just to pull me from my post to escort her home. How dare she._

_That, that’s the problem. She’s got you questioning your priorities. You have responsibilities. Do you really think if you let your guard down for a second, things won’t explode in your face? When has that ever been the case dummy? You know what you need to do. Don’t let yourself get distracted._

Her voice pulls him from his thoughts. “Um, Mister Drake-Wayne? You still there?”

Right. Well, he supposed now he couldn’t try to tell himself she wasn’t a distraction. “Right, sorry. Just looking over my notes. No, I think that’s all I wanted to ask. Sorry for crashing your morning.”

“Oh, it wasn’t a problem. Thanks for your help,” she replies kindly.

“Feel free to let me know if you run into any other problems. This is my personal number.” Even as he offers, he doubts she’ll ever use it.

Her response says as much. “Thank you, and don’t worry. Like I said, I should be getting my car back today and then everything will be settled.”

Seeing a last minute opportunity, he decides it’s at least worth a try. “Right. Speaking of that actually, would you like a ride to the mechanic? I’d be happy to drop you off. It’s the least I could do.”

He wasn’t sure he’d ever had to try this hard at anything before and he really didn’t want to think about why this was that situation taking so much effort.

If only it had paid off.

**...**

Marinette was conflicted. She was suspicious, and she was exhausted and… she was tempted. 

Call it curiosity. The best way to ease or confirm her suspicions would be to take him up on his offer. No matter how sincere he sounded, she didn’t trust this whole nice guy act. Someone like him, so successful so young, couldn’t have gotten to where he was helping any stranger he found on the street, especially not so… thoroughly.

So what was his game? That was the question, wasn’t it? One she definitely wanted to answer, one she definitely couldn’t afford to. 

She had time to go to school and she had time to go to work. Somehow she would make enough time in between to put her new fabric to good use, but she did not have time to waste thinking about the boy who’d all but given it to her.

“Thanks but that won’t be necessary. It’s not that far from campus,” she says casually, like she hadn’t given it any thought. 

So she turns down his offer, mentally denying that she’s clinging to her suspicions to avoid the other things he’d made her feel throughout the morning. In any case, she doesn’t have time for whatever this was, whatever he was playing. She wasn’t backing down, she was just uninterested. She’d faced down much scarier opponents before. This was just a game compared to those battles, and she didn’t have time for games these days. No time for distractions. No time to play with him and see who won.

She did not have time to find out it wouldn’t be her.

As if reading her mind, he says, “Well, then I won’t take any more of your time. Have a nice day. Goodbye.” 

Marinette can imagine him saying that to all his business associates, over and over. She can imagine this conversation being just as normal to him as those. She can imagine him going straight back to work in his office afterward, just another task handled, ready to tackle the others.

Yet when she offers her own, “You too. Goodbye” she doesn’t think she’s imagining the pause before he hangs up, like they’re both asking themselves if this was really the end, if they were both content in calling it a draw.

When she finally hears the beep telling her the call ended, she does something she never does these days and wonders if she made the right decision. Normally, she refused to entertain those thoughts, refused to let herself fall down the rabbit hole they led to. She was trying to do that now as well but as she gets dressed for the day, brushes her hair, and gathers her books for class, her mind is still stuck a few minutes ago, to the smile she’d hid behind a cup of coffee. 

She tries to tell herself, over and over, that she made the right call. That all she did was save herself future anguish. That whatever it was he wanted, it wouldn’t end well for her finding out what that was. That the reason she turned down his offer was because she doesn’t trust him, not because she doesn’t trust herself around him. 

What did it matter if he made her smile more in a week than she had in months? What did it matter if her mind kept drifting to the picture of him she’d seen during her research? What did it matter if she’d seen the exhaustion on his face up close and couldn’t help but feel some semblance of understanding pass between them? What did it matter if she liked hearing his laugh over the phone, if she wanted an opportunity of hearing it in person? What did matter when he was _Tim Drake-Wayne_ and she was… 

Not available, in any sense of the word.

If anything, the confliction she was feeling only solidified her decision. She did not take kindly to having her emotions played with, and even more than that she did not have time for it.

So he could play his games. She showed him today just how far they’d get him, just how far she’d humor him. 

Gotham had taught her a thing or two but Paris? Paris had _made_ her.

She’d learned a long time ago to not trust butterflies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I basically imagine this whole chapter as like a chess game. Think of that what you will. Also, I'd love to hear what you all think of this chapter. Now friends, it is time I leave you for a little visit back home. My other story H.A.D.C.A.A. needs some love too. Fear not, I will return. Like I said, I'll be alternating updating that story and this one. So if your ever worried I've died or abandoned you, just check there first or my Tumblr (alixanonymous) before lighting the BatSignal. Okay? As always, any and all feedback is very much appreciated! Till next time! Stay safe and stay sane! <3

**Author's Note:**

> This story basically started when I was watching the Christopher Nolan Batman movies for the first time. There's a scene in it where Batman takes off a bunch of people's side-view windows and apparently I can find inspiration anywhere. I really, really wanted this to be a one-shot but at this point I really think it's best to break it up and give myself some room to breathe. I've never written so much at once before. I have the entire next chapter already written, I just need to edit it and it should be up soon. I plan to post another one after that before alternating between updating this story and my other one, How A Demon Commissions An Angel. If you like my writing, you might like that one too although I have learned a lot since I started it and it's very different from this one. It's a Daminette fic told through messaging. After writing this I was laughing to myself realizing my type of stories apparently always start off with blackmailing and Marinette being completely done with the world. I found that to be an oddly specific type. Anyway, any and all feedback is very much appreciated. Till next time (which should be very soon)! Stay safe and stay sane! Goodbye! :D


End file.
